


Hunter and Hunted

by mrua7



Series: Strange, scary stories and the Man from U.N.C.L.E. [58]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Camping, Forests, Friendship, Full Moon, Gen, Halloween, Murder, Partnership, Sasquatch, Spies & Secret Agents, Supernatural Elements, Trees, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 01:50:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21245531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrua7/pseuds/mrua7
Summary: Napoleon and Illya are tasked with capturing a THRUSH agent who plans to assassinate JFK and Kruschev at the meeting in Vienna.





	Hunter and Hunted

**Author's Note:**

  * For [susanpr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/susanpr/gifts).

> Written for the 2019 MFU Scrapbook Halloween Challenge 
> 
> Susanpr requested: I would love an Illya-centric Gen MFU-TS story full of angst, but with Napoleon of course.

The prompt:

The Secret Service was up to its ears investigating other more plausible threats, and thanks to Alexander Waverly’s entreaties, they let U.N.C.L.E. handle this particular rumor.

At present the team of Solo and Kuryakin were traipsing through the woods in the Canadian wilderness, lugging backpacks and equipment to rough it. 

They knew they weren’t far behind their quarry, but they’d stalked him deeper into the woods than they’d hoped.

“Do you not find it ironic that we are after a man named Booth who purportedly plans to assassinate your President,” Illya asked.

“What do you mean...wait, are you referring to John Wilkes Booth who killed President Lincoln?”

“Of course. Our suspect claims to be a distant relation to John Wilkes. The relationship is shaky at best as Booth never married and there is no record of him having fathered children, though he had quite a reputation with the ladies.”

Illya knew he’d get Napoleon’s attention with that bit of information.

“After Booth shot Lincoln, he was a fugitive for twelve days before he himself was killed. All that was found on him was a compass, a candle, and a diary with pictures of five women who were all romantically linked with him. Four of them were actresses, the fifth was his alleged fiance as well as the daughter of Lincoln’s ambassador to Spain. According to his diary the five women were not his only paramours. There were accounts of his relationships with almost two dozen other women, including more actresses, admirers and even prostitutes. So there is a remote possibility he may have sired children with any of these women.”

“His brother Edwin became a notable Shakespearean actor who unfortunately lived in the shadow of John Wilkes’ crime. There was no name matching Braxton Lee Booth in Edwin’s lineage, nor any of the other surviving Booth brothers, or their five sisters for that matter.”

“And where did you find these tidbits tovarisch?”

“Reading of course. His surname stood out to me and I did a little research into his ancestry. 

“A little? As always, impressive tovarisch.” 

His bookworm of a partner never failed to get the jump on him when it came to the facts...then again, he could always rely upon Illya to get the skinny on the situation. 

That let the American have more time for other ‘pre-mission’ pursuits. 

Still, Napoleon wasn’t unfamiliar with the history of John Wilkes Booth.

“I do know that Booth and his fellow conspirators originally plotted to kidnap President Lincoln and later planned to kill him, Vice President Andrew Johnson, as well as Secretary of State William H. Seward. It was their attempt to help the Confederacy's cause, though Lee’s army had surrendered four days earlier. Booth believed the Civil War wasn’t over because remnants of Confederate army were still fighting the Union forces.”

Illya cocked his eyebrows, finding that interesting. Napoleon was by no means an unintelligent man but quoting historical facts was something he rarely did.

Braxton Lee Booth was purportedly a THRUSH operative who planned to assassinate President John F. Kennedy as well as Premier Nikita Khrushchev of the Soviet Union. That’s what was heard on the THRUSH channels and it was chatter that Waverly took seriously.

The two men were scheduled for a summit in Vienna, Austria with the intent of discussing numerous issues in the relationship between their countries. Of course security was quadrupled as there were other potential threats, those the Americans and Soviets would monitor. 

THRUSH was UNCLE’s problem, which suited Waverly just fine.

The ultimate goal of this THRUSH plan was to push the U.S. and the U.S.S.R into a third world war with the assassination of the leaders of the two political giants.

THRUSH would simply stand back and wait to pick up the pieces. To them anyone who died in another world conflict were the ‘undesirables,’ the ones they wanted gone, now apparently at any cost.

What better way than to decimate mankind, and rule over the survivors? It was the survival of the fittest, and it was them from which the Hierarchy would create a new world order.

There was no proof positive that Braxton Lee Booth was acting on the plan, though to the U.N.C.L.E. what was being said on THRUSH channels was enough to warrant finding and detaining him.

An initial sighting of Booth at Kennedy Airport, resulted in a brief altercation after Illya and Napoleon confronted him. 

He managed to escape thanks to a clumsy baggage handler with an overly full cart.

Luckily Kuryakin managed to slip a tracking disc on the sole Booth’s booth during the struggle. 

That was the only way they were keeping up with him now in this woodsy setting as he’d crossed the border into Canada.

Why he was heading here was a mystery as there were no airports in the area, no means of getting himself to Austria. That was unless he had somehow prearranged another other mode of transportation.

Tracking Booth wasn’t easy even with the homing disc; it did however, help that there was an unusually large full moon to help light their way.

Bareboned trees were silhouetted against the night sky as Napoleon and Illya moved carefully, picking their way forward.Beneath their feet the fallen leaves rustled in a cold wind. Dried branches on the ground snapped as the agents stepped on them.

Still their path wasn’t that clear as small pine trees surrounded them, blocking their view as they pushed through the branches.

An owl hooted in the darkness, and in the distance honking Canada geese were silhouetted as they flew past the moon.

For some reason the setting gave Solo the shivers. He had an uneasy feeling but said nothing to Kuryakin about it. Ironically it was Illya whose gut instincts usually forewarned them if something untoward was about to happen, yet he said nothing to that effect as well.

Maybe it was just the full moon and the fact they were in the middle of nowhere that gave Solo the jitters.

“Any stories of Sasquatch up this way,” Napoleon asked.

“Sasquatch, what is that?”

He couldn’t believe his partner hadn’t heard of it, much less read about it.

“It’s a hairy, ape-like creature that lives in the wilderness and leaves only giant footprints as proof of its existence. Supposedly it ranges from six to fifteen feet tall tall, stands and walks erect on two feet. It’s said to give off a foul smell, and either moves silently or emits a high-pitched cry. There’s been sightings but no photographic evidence so far. Some people think it’s a missing link between humans and our not so human ancestors. In the United States it’s often called Bigfoot, but in Canada he’s called Sasquatch.”

“Impressive Napoleon.”

“I think it is.”

“Not the creature, but the fact that you know of this in such a scientific detail. It sounds as if this Sasquatch is not unlike the Yeti of the Himalayas, the Almas wild man which is a purported hominid cryptozoological species reputed to inhabit the Caucasus and Central Asia, as well as the Altai Mountains of western Mongolia; none of these creatures I believe exist, by the way.”

“Interesting, you know an awful lot about something in which you don’t believe,”Solo screwed up his face, “and just because I know about Sasquatch doesn’t mean I believe in it; I was just making an observation. How is it you can’t believe in the possible existence of such a creature that’s had numerous credible sightings and yet can suspend your belief in the rational and believe in...ahem, werewolves, i.e. _ bodarks _?”

Illya huffed, “You saw the bodark yourself. * It is of a supernatural nature, something of which I can not explain. This Sasquatch, or whatever name you wish to call it, if it does exist, is a possible oddity of nature...a mutation perhaps and nothing more. If it were real it would be researched scientifically, not anecdotally…”

“Shush,” Napoleon put his fingers to his lips. His communicator, which he’d been using to track Booth was now giving a quiet signal that had become one continuous beep. That indicated the target had stopped moving and was nearby.

Napoleon he closed the communicator pen and signalled for the two of them to split up, with his partner circling in the opposite direction. 

Hopefully they’d be able to confront Booth from the front and the rear.

Their magazines were loaded with sleep darts as it was their intention to capture him, they’d been ordered to bring Booth back alive.

Suddenly there was a scream, blood curdling enough to send shivers down the spine of a seasoned agent such as Napoleon. His thoughts went immediately to his partner.

_ “Illya! _” He shouted, pushing forward through the trees, thinking something had happened to his partner.

There he found the camouflage clad Russian standing like a statue over the body of a man; it was Booth, and he’d been ripped to shreds. It had to have happened in a matter of seconds.

“Are you all right? I heard you scream,” Napoleon called.

“I am fine, but Booth is not. The scream was his, not mine.”

“Did you see what did this,” Napoleon was out of breath by the time he’d made it to his partner’s side.

“No.” Illya knelt, shining a flashlight on the ground, searching for something.” There are no footprints, other than Booth’s.”

Napoleon flashed his light on the body. 

“Those are definitely bite marks, but look at his right arm, it’s nearly been pulled from the socket.”

“Yes,” Illya took hold of a small broken branch, pushing open the man’s jacket; his chest had been ripped open.

“Whatever did this feasted on his internal organs; the heart is missing.”

“Illya, we heard the scream seconds ago. How could this have happened that quickly?”

“That I do not know. A bear perhaps, though I see no paw prints.”

“I don’t know of any bear that could kill and eat on the run like this and leave no tracks,” Napoleon said.

“I agree.”

“Well I don’t know about you tovarisch, but I think our assignment is at an end. It’s safe to say Mister Booth won’t be carrying out his assassination plans. We’ll have to presume this was some sort of animal attack. That being the case, I say we contact headquarters, triangulate the location of the body so a team can retrieve it and we get the hell out of here. Whatever did this might come back.”

Napoleon suddenly hesitated. “You don’t think it could have been a Sasquatch, do you?”

“Tsk,” Illya clicked his tongue.” I am in agreement with you on everything but that.

Napoleon opened a channel to Waverly and gave him his report and though the Old Man was disappointed at not having Booth taken alive, he was satisfied the immediate threat was eliminated for now.

Solo and Kuryakin were ordered to keep watch over the body until a crew could arrive at their coordinates in the morning.

“Peachy,” Napoleon said as he put away his communicator.

“I have an extra tarp in my kit,” Illya said.” I suggest we wrap the body in it and bury it in a shallow grave to protect it from wildlife, specifically what may have killed him and mutilated him.”

Solo wasn’t happy. Setting up camp in the middle of nowhere with some wild creature in the vicinity wasn’t particularly safe.

“First things first, let’s build a fire and set up camp before we become grave diggers.”

“ I suggest multiple fires surrounding the tent to ward off any unwanted visitors,” Illya said.

They gathered wood by the light of a kerosene lantern and built three fires before setting up their canvas tent. They dug shallow holes with a small collapsible spade, setting up the fires in them, as a precaution since everything around them was so dry. Leaves and debris were cleared away as well.

Both men were quite capable of surviving with the barest of supplies but this time they were more than prepared. Sleeping bags, the tent, and enough food to last several days was living in luxury in the middle of the dark woods compared to other treks they’d made into the wilderness.

After camp was set, they wrapped and buried Booth’s body deep enough that they were satisfied it would be protected.

As a precaution they assembled their carbines by the light of the oil lamp as that would give them more fire power if needed

Sitting on a log near the fire in front of the entrance to the tent, they feasted on canned beans, beef jerky and for dessert mixed nuts, a couple of Macintosh apples and a chocolate bar for each of them.

“Next time I pick the food,” Napoleon bit into a piece of the dried beef, tugging at it until he became disgusted with it.

“You do not want it?” Illya looked at it longingly.

“Be my guest tovarisch.” He tossed it to his partner who tucked into it with enthusiasm. 

“What did you pack for breakfast?”

“Cornflakes with condensed milk. There is bread we can toast and I brought a jar of raspberry jam.”

“Tea and coffee I hope?”

“But of course,”Illya smled. “And I have these.”

He reached into his pack and drew out a couple of airplane size liquor bottles, one vodka and one scotch.

Napoleon grinned. “Now you’ve made my day tovarisch.”

They opened the bottles and Solo offered a toast.

“To an undisturbed, good night’s sleep.”

After throwing more wood on the fires, big pieces that would last through the night, they both crawled into the tent, tying the opening closed after themselves.

Neither one got into their sleeping bags, instead they chose to just use them as their bedding, with their carbines laying nearby.

Napoleon lowered the flame on the lamp and settled back.

“Good night Illya.” It was then he realized his partner was already lightly snoring. 

“I hate when you do that.”

He laid there, his hands tucked behind his head as he drifted off into a well deserved sleep.

Napoleon shot bolt upright up as he was woken by a scream. The tent had been ripped open and something had Illya by the foot and was dragging him outside.

Solo shot his carbine again and again but to no avail as Illya disappeared into the darkness. 

He dove through the opening in the tent, looking in every direction. Grabbing a flashlight, Napoleon followed the trail in the dirt where Illya had been dragged.

** _“ILLYA!”_ ** He shouted as he ran into the woods. ** _“ILLYA! Answer me, where are you?”_ **

Napoleon listened for a response, and it was then he heard gunfire; it was the distinctive sound of an UNCLE weapon.

He ran in that direction, calling his partner again and again.

“Here, Napoleon. I am here.”

He found Illya laying on the ground and after quickly examining his partner, he found him apparently uninjured.

Helping Kuryakin to his feet, he looked him over once more.

“You’re okay?”

“Yes, it had me by the boot and luckily it was the only part of me that was damaged.” Illya lifted his lower leg, showing Solo the sole had been nearly ripped off.

“You’re sure you weren’t bitten.”

“Napoleon I am fine.”

“Did you see it, what was it?”

“It was the one thing that I believe in, and that is a bodark.”

“A werewolf, here?”

“Yes, remember the glowing red eyes of the one you saw with me in Russia?”*

“I’ll never forget it.”

Illya you’re sure that’s what it was? A real werewolf?”

“I have seen the bodark twice in my life; I am positive that was what it was.''

“And here I was worrying about a Sasquatch. Do you still carry a silver bullet with you tovarisch?”

“Yes, but it was in my backpack as I did not think I would encounter a bodark here.”

“Then I guess it’s time to lock and load,” Napoleon clapped his partner on the back.

Together they returned to the campsite where they took down the remainder of the tent. They built two more fires and sat down in the center of the circle they’d created. There’d be no sleep tonight.

“Illya, I didn’t say anything before, but I had a bad feeling earlier. I think it was the full moon.”

“I too had the same feeling as the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. It was as if we were being watched, though I saw nothing.”

“Next time we both have bad feelings about a situation, we tell each other,” Napoleon said.

Illya shook his blond head in agreement.

Napoleon watched his partner for a few minutes, taking note of the uncomfortable look in Illya’s eyes. He wondered what was going through the Russian’s head; was he reliving his childhood memory of the bodark?

Solo could only have imagined the terror that Illya as a young boy could have felt. He decided it was best not to broach the subject.

That’s when they heard it. Their heads turned at the same time as it was a rustling nearby; something was there.

The agents waited, looking for those glowing red eyes. 

Moments later they appeared. 

Slowly, an immense wolf moved into the light of the fires, making its grey fur look like it was ablaze, just like its eyes. It opened is maw, revealing fangs glistening with bloody saliva.

Suddenly it leapt towards the agents, but fell to the ground as Illya’s gun fired. The Russian’s aim was true as the bodark was dead from the silver bullet; it was a single shot to the head.

Napoleon and Illya watched as the wolf transformed back to its original human form. It was a man perhaps in his forties, medium complected with long straight black hair. His body was riddled with wounds from the bullets both Napoleon and Illya had fired into him, but because they weren’t made of silver, they had no effect.

“Another corpse for the cleanup crew,” Illya announced, cold hearted as ever.

“Do you recognize him?”Solo asked.

“No, but definitely not Russian; he appears to be aboriginal, possibly a Mohawk.

“An Indian; I thought only Russians could be bodarks?”

“No, that is something that is not exclusive to Russia, I am sure. I would not surprise me if he was a tribal shaman who could transform himself. In Native American mythology, the wolf is very important as is associated with courage, strength, loyalty, and success at hunting. This man must have been a quite powerful individual.”

“Oh so you believe in werewolves and shape-shifting shamans, but not Sasquatch?”

“Tsk. Just leave it be Napoleon.”

The sun rose at last, letting the partners breathe a sigh of relief. As they cleared the campsite, Illya’s communicator called to him.

“Kuryakin here.”

“Agent Dupre here Mister Kuryakin, I’m with the clean up team. Our helicopter landed in a clearing approximately two miles from your location and we should be to you shortly.

“We will be waiting...oh, and bring an extra body bag. Out.”

The team arrived and as they bagged the bodies of Braxton Lee Booth, and the other dead man, one of the agents called something to Solo’s attention.

“Sir, did you see these prints here? Perhaps it was the animal that killed Booth, though I’ve never seen anything like them.” He said nothing about the other body, as the cause of death was obvious since it was riddled with bullet wounds.

Illya, with Napoleon beside him knelt to examine the prints pointed to by Dupre.

The footprints had to measure at least twenty-four inches in length and eight inches in width. There was a foul smell in their vicinity, and it definitely wasn’t coming from the corpses.

“Do me a favor,”Napoleon asked Dupre,”Can you make a plaster cast of these: I want them brought back to the labs for examination.”

“Sure Mister Solo; what do you think they’re from?”

“Don’t know.” Napoleon stared into the eyes of his partner. Illya returned Solo’s gaze with a quizzical look.

“And how will you write the report on this? Surely you do not think this footprint was made by that Sasquatch creature? It has to be some sort of bear.”

“I don’t know Illya. I’m curious, I suppose.”

“That is usually my purview, and before you ask; yes, my curiosity has been piqued.”

As they headed off with the cleanup team to the awaiting helicopter they heard it. At first it was a bass-heavy roar echoing in the woods, but changed to a blood-curdling shriek. 

Then, silence. Not a sound from anything, not even a bird.

“Another bodark?” Napoleon whispered.

“No, the bodark only walks at night. It was not a wolf either.”

The sound was chilling, and spurred the men to move faster. 

Once boarding the chopper; saying nothing, Napoleon and Illya gazed out at the forest below, trying to spot whatever had made those sounds…

  


*ref to “[A Howling in the Night.”](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2543399) -a Halloween story written a few years ago for pactnmmt and the Scrapbook Halloween Challenge.

A/N: In Russian mythology the bodark is a werewolf, but instead of being made to transform into a wolf, the person who becomes a bodark actually wants to be one. To do so, they would need to go into the forest and stab a copper knife into a tree while chanting an incantation.


End file.
